Emperor of Havoc: A Dark Forced Marriage Mafia Romance

The Ishida estate hums with low laughter, polite applause, and the clink of expensive crystal glassware.

The engagement celebration is extravagant, with power oozing from every corner and guest. Lanterns cast a gold and crimson glow over the stone pathways in the courtyard and the koi pond rippling like liquid glass. Guards patrol quietly, so out of the way you don’t even know they’re there.

It’s a perfectly orchestrated display of strength and tradition. That’s what Kolya does—he puts on a show.

Even if he’s, strangely, not attending this particular performance.

I’ve already seen Katarina—via Nina—explain to more than a few guests that her father has been “unfortunately pulled away for work”. I don’t buy it for a second.

It’s common knowledge that Kolya has a disdain for the Yakuza world, despite being virtually at the top of that particular food chain. I’m guessing that sourness comes from his history with that side of his heritage, i.e., his grandfather banishing his mother when she fell for a Russian man. Interestingly, it’s been said that Kolya has the same disdain for the Bratva world for doing the same to his father, for falling for a Japanese woman.

But despite all that, Kolya knows how to work the room like a virtuoso. And he understands perfectly the niceties and nuances of this image game we all play.

He’d never miss his daughter’s engagement party, even if the whole thing is bullshit and he probably hates the groom, i.e., me.

Which begs the question: where the fuck is he?

For the moment, I tuck that question aside as I grab a drink from a passing waiter, sip it, and smile a predatory smile at anyone staring at me with a wrinkled nose and a wary expression.

There’s a lot of wrinkled noses and wary expressions.

The rest of my siblings are here as well. But none of them, not even Mal, really has the same…reputation that I do. Even Damian, for all his violent lunacy, doesn’t get the same reproachful stares from the crowd.

They look at me out of the corners of their eyes like I’m the crazy motherfucker who slipped in through the back door, unsure yet if I’m going to do something explosive. That’s fine. I didn’t come here for their approval.

I came to get in deep.

To worm my way in.

And to uncover the truth about Akira.

That’s what drives me, even as the suit I’m wearing chafes my skin and the polite smiles fray my nerves. I drift through the crowd like smoke, my presence undeniable. I’m not here to bid for a seat at the table—I’m here to take the table apart, piece by piece.

And these men have no idea.

The first Ishida-kai ally I approach is older, gray dusting his temples and complex irezumi tattoos peeking out from the cuffs of his suit. Yamamoto, if memory serves. I’ve done my homework. He’s loyal to Kolya, but practical. He’ll listen if what I’m offering makes sense.

I’m not saying my plan is to start subtly peeling Kolya’s allies away and turn them into my allies…

…But I’m not saying that’s not my plan, either.

“Beautiful evening,” I say, offering him a smile that’s just friendly enough to disarm.

He nods warily, his posture stiff. “Indeed.”

“Kolya-san has built something truly extraordinary here,” I continue, gesturing around us. “A legacy that will last generations. But you and I both know legacies require careful, steady hands to protect them.”

Yamamoto regards me carefully, weighing every word. “And you think those hands are yours?”

“I think they could be ours,” I reply, my voice measured. “Your loyalty runs deep, Yamamoto-san. And loyalty deserves a reward. Under my guidance—under our partnership—the Ishida-kai will grow. This city will belong to us in ways it never has before. And with growth comes rewards…” I smile. “Especially to those whom I call friend.”

His brows lift slightly. “Bold words from a man who has not yet married the boss’s daughter.”

“Bold words are what built this empire in the first place,” I counter. “And bold actions will protect it.”

Before Yamamoto can respond, a familiar voice interrupts us.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

I turn leisurely to see Ryu, Kolya’s top advisor, standing behind me. His posture is rigid, his glare hot enough to leave burn marks. He’s dressed impeccably, his black suit sharp enough to cut, but there’s nothing elegant about the anger radiating off him.

Ryu and my family have crossed paths before. The bullet wound in his gut is a lasting reminder of that encounter, though I doubt it’s a very happy one.

“Ryu-san,” I say smoothly, as if I’m genuinely pleased to see him. “We were just discussing the future.”

“The future?” Ryu repeats, his voice a low growl. He doesn’t look at Yamamoto. His anger is directed squarely at me. “You are not part of this family’s future. You are not part of this family at all, actually. You’re a fucking gaijin outsider.” His lips curl darkly. “You don’t belong here.”

Even if my face stays neutral, the word cuts. It always does.

Gaijin. Foreigner. Intruder. It’s a word I’ve heard since I was old enough to understand what I was. Half-Japanese, half-Norwegian. Too tall, too European, too different for some of the more old-school—and yes, I’ll say it, racist—corners of the Yakuza world.

I smile at Ryu mildly, letting the insult slide over me.

“Let’s get one thing clear,” I say softly, stepping closer. The room feels smaller, hushed, like everyone is waiting for what comes next. “I’m marrying Kolya’s daughter. I’m not auditioning, or interviewing for a position. I’m about to become your fucking boss.”

Ryu’s jaw tightens stonily.

I lean in, my voice low. “As such, you will need to interview to keep your current position. If you have a problem with that, I suggest you take it up with Kolya.” My brows knit as I swivel my head from side to side, darting my eyes around the room. “Now, where is he…?”

The tension between Ryu and me crackles, the air humming with the threat of violence. I can see his muscles coil and his nostrils flare as he fights to keep himself in check.

But he knows he can’t touch me. Not here. Not tonight.

So he just straightens, his face a mask of dark rage. “You’re going to regret attempting whatever it is you’re trying to pull with this bullshit,” he mutters, his voice trembling with barely restrained anger. Then he turns sharply on his heel and storms away, his footsteps echoing through the room.

I watch him go with a satisfied smile.

Takeshi: one. Ryu: zero.

Your move, dickhead.

I turn to resume my admittedly blatant attempt to buy Yamamoto’s loyalty. But, probably wisely for him, he’s already backed away, clearly cooling to the idea as he disappears into the crowd.

Whatever. There are plenty more like him.

A sharp jab to my shoulder makes me flinch as I whirl. My jaw unclenches when I find not Ryu itching for a fight but Katarina, glaring up at me, her gray eyes blazing with fury.

It would be a whole lot more threatening if she didn’t look like absolute sin in that fucking gown.

Off-white, down to her ankles, thin shoulder straps, a plunging back. Her long, coppery-blonde hair is pinned up, though not particularly elaborately.

She’s good at cleaning up without looking like she’s playing princess. Katarina clearly understands the world she moves in, and how that world is especially unforgiving toward a woman alone in its midst.

My eyes travel the length of the delicate line of her neck, but there’s nothing delicate about the way she’s looking at me.

“You do not get to come in here and fuck with my family,” she signs furiously.

“Our family, sweetheart,” I correct, letting my voice drop dangerously.

Her hands move sharply as she signs. Don’t.

I grin. “But we’re going to⁠—”

She cuts me off with a glare and stalks away before I can finish the thought.

She’s furious. I love it. That fire, that refusal to bow… Kolya might see a dutiful heir when he looks at her, but I see a spark. A challenge.

She’s going to fight me every step of the way.

Good.

The party drags on for hours, but I stay, watching, listening. Kolya doesn’t make an appearance once. But his captains and allies are here. By the time the celebration starts to wind down, I’ve planted seeds with half a dozen men. Some of them are too wary to give me anything beyond polite nods, but a few—Yamamoto included—are willing to listen. They’re loyal to Kolya, but they’re even more loyal to survival. If I convince them that aligning with me is their best shot at staying on top, they’ll come around.

Everything I’m doing tonight is calculated. Strategic. It’s all a means to an end.

The fall of Kolya Ishida.

But first… I need his daughter.

I find Katarina standing by the koi pond, gazing into the water as if it holds all the answers. The light from the lanterns casts a soft golden glow across her skin. I approach quietly, stopping a few feet away.

“You don’t look like someone who just got engaged,” I observe.

She stiffens but doesn’t turn. “Because I’m not.” Her hands move quickly above her shoulder, the gestures clipped. “This isn’t real. We both know that.”

“Real enough for them,” I reply, nodding toward the guests.

She finally turns to face me, her face stony. “What do you want from me?”

I step closer, until there’s only a breath of space between her body and mine. “I already told you,” I murmur. “Everything.”

Her eyes widen slightly, her breath catching deep in her throat. For a moment, neither of us moves. The tension coils tighter and tighter, until it feels like the air itself might snap.

“I mean from the real me,” she signs tentatively. “Not that other one.”

I smile dangerously. “You mean the one that wanted me to chase her, pin her to the dirty ground and fuck her?” I purr, letting the last words meander through the air between us to caress her ears.

“That me doesn’t exist.”

I arch a brow. “I beg to differ. And I believe my fingers are ready to take the stand as star witnesses.”

Her face turns crimson as I bring three fingers to my mouth and dramatically lick them clean. Her gaze locks with mine for a moment, her throat working up and down soundlessly.

Then, suddenly, the spell breaks and Katarina steps back from me.

“Stay away from me,” she signs abruptly before she spins on her heel and marches away, either unaware or not caring that my eyes linger on the way her hips sway as she does.

I smile, slowly and deliberately.

Not a chance, princess.